


the old instincts (& the new)

by dismantlingsummer



Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: Flashback, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, True Form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:43:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismantlingsummer/pseuds/dismantlingsummer
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the true form arc, Kazuma remembers the first time he saw Kyo transform.





	the old instincts (& the new)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the manga + a generous amount of headcanons.

The long night was over.

He sat besides Kyo now, in Tohru’s room. She had insisted that Kyo needed a proper bed, and Kazuma had not refused. When she had returned from the woods earlier that morning, Kyo asleep in her arms, she had, for just a moment, appeared to Kazuma as nothing less than a saint, or an angel, the sun on her face, her hair wet and muddy. But then the moment had passed and he had remembered, had reminded himself, that she was not an angel, she was a bruised and tired girl, and he had not argued with her, had instead simply asked Shigure to call Hatori while he waited, for a little bit at least, with his son. He did not think he could face him this morning. He did not regret what he had done; he did not regret that it had perhaps worked. But he wouldn’t have blamed Kyo if he despised him. He would allow himself this: to sit here, a little longer, while Kyo rested, and then to do the kind thing, and leave. All the urgency and resolve and steel had drained out of him. The morning brought both relief and guilt in equal turns.

There was a poof of orange smoke, and the sleeping cat that had been laying In Tohru’s bed was suddenly a boy again. He rose and adjusted the blankets over Kyo’s sleeping form. He had not stirred, not when Tohru had placed him in Kazuma’s arms, not when Kazuma had carried him to bed, and not now. For once, his sleep seemed peaceful, though Kazuma knew that this was partially because he was exhausted, utterly spent. The transformation always took a lot out of him, just as the rain did, and that was on top of the particularly hellish night before. Kazuma paused above Kyo, who was just a boy now, just like Tohru – bruised in unseen places, tired in his bones. Kazuma pressed a hand to Kyo’s hair. _I am sorry_, he thought, _but you do not need to forgive me. _

The first time had been soon after he had adopted Kyo.

That transformation had been forced, too.

Kazuma had been called to the main estate by Akito. He was instructed to bring Kyo with him. Kazuma was not afraid of Akito – then, still a child – but he knew what this was about and so he was scared of himself. The old guilt was still there, buried deep in the bedrock of his soul.

He told Kyo to wait outside. For the past few weeks, the boy had been silent and rowdy in turns, at times refusing to speak or eat, but nonetheless clinging to Kazuma like a second skin; at times waking up yelling in the middle of the night, throwing fits in the dojo, running away and refusing to come near. Kazuma was exhausted, but not deterred. None of this was what frightened him. That morning he had lifted Kyo into the air and knew, with a singularity that was almost startling, that this had been the right thing to do, the only thing to do, for both Kyo and himself as well.

Now Kyo nodded, not speaking, staring at his feet. Kazuma removed a book from his robes and handed it to Kyo. “Don’t listen in,” he told him. “There won’t be anything important for you to hear.”

When he went inside, he was not very surprised at all to find both Akito as well as Kyo’s father. They were sitting together, as if they had been in deep conspiring conversation. As if Akito was not a child at all.

“Kazuma,” Akito said. “Thank you for coming.”

Kazuma nodded, smiled. “Of course.”

“Sit down.”

“Thank you.”

After a long moment, Kyo’s father spoke first, his eyes trained on the ground, his voice low and tense: “None of us want to be here, discussing that thing, and so I’ll make this quick and to the point. You’ve done me a favor, taking him off my hands, and I appreciate that. But it is not necessary. Akito and I agree, the new rules were not the always the rules, we don’t have to wait until he graduates, what’s the point, anyway? Let us lock it up now, and be done with it. He killed my wife, he killed his mother. That’s crime enough. Let’s be done with it.”

“I see,” Kazuma said. “You agree with this too, Akito? You wish to change the rules?”

Akito looked at him with eyes dark and glimmering. “It could be now, or it could be later,” he said. “It does not matter to me. He will go where he is going. What is the point in waiting, do you think?”

“—, it is my pleasure to do you this favor.”

Kyo’s father finally looked up. Kazuma saw that his expression was wild, like an animal chomping at it’s muzzle.

“You do not wish to raise Kyo. I understand. I will do this task. It would be an honor to me.”

Kyo’s father scoffed. It was a cruel and biting sound. “An honor, you say. So it’s the money, is that it? If we lock it up now, you don’t get paid?”

“No, “ Kazuma said. “You insult me.”

“Then explain yourself!”

“You would not understand. You are not a father.”

Kyo’s father jumped to his feet, his hands clenched, but when Akito waved a hand, lazily, disinterested, he sat back down, his teeth gritted. “Perhaps you do not understand, Kazuma,” Akito suggested. “Bring him in now. I would like to show you something.”

Outside, Kyo stood exactly where Kazuma had left him. The book was open, but clenched in white-knuckled hands. Kazuma shut the sliding doors behind him, kneeled down.

“Kyo,” he said. “Look at me, Kyo.”

He looked.

“I know you’re scared,” Kazuma said. “And I think more frightening things are about to happen. But I need you to be strong. You know why?” Kyo shook his head. “Because I am not frightened.”

He took Kyo’s hand and they went inside.

Kyo’s father was looking at the floor again, his eyes livid. Akito stood, still looking bored, but beneath that Kazuma could sense something else, something malicious and slippery, like the venom of a predator hiding behind the skin. Akito said, “Hello again, cat,” and Kyo fisted his small hands.

With the same lazy, secretive precision Akito circled Kyo, his eyes trained on Kazuma. “You’re on the inside,” he intoned. “You know about the curse, you know about the cat. You saw your grandfather in his cage. But how much do you really know, how much do you understand?”

Kazuma did not reply.

“The members of the Zodiac all transform, of course. One into a rat, another into a bird. But only one transforms from a monster into a human. Only one hide its true form under the guise of human flesh.” Suddenly, moving quickly now, Akito seized Kyo’s wrist where the bracelet sat. Kyo made as if to run away, but Akito tightened his grip, silenced Kyo’s shout with a look. “If you are going to let it live in your house, train with your students, you should know what the cat really is.” With a final slow grin, he slid the bracelet off and stepped away.

And then it was happening. Kyo was shaking, and falling to the ground, and crying out in pain. And then he was contorting into something that did not look like Kyo at all, something with distorted, misshapen limbs, pebbly animal skin, a giant skull both catlike and reptilian in turns. He was massive and skeletal, with blazing orange eyes, and a stink like the grave, a smell so powerful Kazuma felt his stomach turn. It took everything in him not to take an instinctual step backwards, to fly into a defensive pose. Some ancient instinct was lighting up in him, something deep in his bones that was telling him that this was _wrong_, this was _dangerous_, this was the time to fight or flee.

Akito was retching, raising his robes to his nose and stepping further away. Kyo’s father had begun to babble, saying viscous words in some low unhinged voice, you _monster_ you _killer_ you _thing_. And Kyo – Kyo was _trembling_.

He did not move, did not run, did not make a sound. He stood there, on all fours, shaking like a leaf, his blazing eyes squeezed shut, twin tears leaking out of them.

The old instincts, prehistoric and eternal, went back to sleep. Relief, sweeping and holy, seemed to flood through him. _ I can bear it. It's not hard at all. It's not hard because I know what I am truly afraid of. _. Kazuma took a step forward, and kneeled down next to Kyo. “You’re right,” he said. “I do see now.”

Kyo opened his eyes when Kazuma laid a hand on the top of his head. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to be frightened anymore. I still want you.”

It didn’t happen all at once. He had not, after all, said any magic words, done anything that would truly solve anything. But after a little time, and the continued noises of Akito and Kyo’s father in the background, Kyo’s other form fell away, and sitting in front him was just a small and crying boy. He gave him his bracelet back, though he knew he did not need it now, not in this very moment, at least. Having his body weakened - from sickness or exhaustion or the rain -- all of those things would do it, he already knew that from hearing about his grandfather. But he had learned something else, too. He scooped Kyo up into his arms. “Thank you for this demonstration,” Kazuma said, unsmiling. “You were right; it was very enlightening.”

Akito was no longer smiling either. He said, “If that’s what you want, you can have him. For now. Once he turns eighteen, he’s mine.”

Kyo’s father had leapt to his feet again. He was shouting again, spittle flying from his mouth, but Kazuma didn’t pay him any attention. He didn’t say another a word. He walked out.

_How painful_, he thought. The true form mythology had been wrapped up in mystery and ambiguity for so long, ever since he had been a child staring into his grandfather's cage, but he thought he understood now, a little bit. Fear and anxiety and shame and anger: these things, without the bracelet's power, were what really triggered the transformation, Kazuma believed. _Painful, and perhaps a comfort too_. Those ugly emotions, Kazuma knew, were part of everybody. They were _human. _Kyo's other form made them manifest. An important lesson learned, after all. 

Still, it wouldn’t be until way later that night that they would talk about had happened. Kyo had fallen asleep by the time they returned to the dojo, and Kazuma had put him to bed. He had gone to his desk to do some work – silly administrative things, the kind of things he normally left for his assistant to do, but that he now found strangely relieving, helpful – when Kyo had come out of bed and stood in the doorway. Kazuma sensed his presence before he saw him.

“You _were_ scared,” Kyo said.

“Yes,” Kazuma admitted. “I was scared they were going to take you away from me.”

“But they’re not going to?”

“No. I do not think they will.”

“So you’re not scared anymore.”

Kazuma finally turned around. Kyo hung onto the doorway, his eyes both skeptical and vulnerable, all at once. Kazuma said, “I am, sometimes, but is all right to be scared. We’ll be scared together, okay?”

Kyo blinked, his eyes widening, and then for the first time since Kazuma had brought him over from the funeral, he ran forward and threw his arms around Kazuma. For a second, he did nothing, surprised, and, truthfully, suddenly close to crying himself, before hugging Kyo back.

Now, looking down at his sleeping son, Kazuma thought, not for the first time: _you put your trust in me, I saw what being forced to change did to you, and I did it anyway._

Kyo stirred, and Kazuma removed his hand. The morning was rolling forward, and more light was streaming through the windows, although he had closed the blinds. Soon Kyo would be waking, and Hatori would be done treating Torhu for her injuries. No doubt Hatori would also report back to Akito what had happened the night before, and what the outcome had been. All of them, Kazuma and Kyo and Tohru and the others as well, would have to greet the day and go on living. But perhaps there was more hope after all. He thought, _I am sorry,_ _and I don’t regret a thing._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
